


Sunny-Side Up

by jvo_taiski



Series: Universal Constant [2]
Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: 5+1 Things, Curly Shepard is whipped, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, i'm not kidding there's so much fluff it's sickening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jvo_taiski/pseuds/jvo_taiski
Summary: Or, five times Curly wants to say something + one time he does.
Relationships: Ponyboy Curtis/Curly Shepard
Series: Universal Constant [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182284
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Sunny-Side Up

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is technically a part 2 but it can be read as a stand-alone
> 
> So I’ve been entirely too trigger happy with the ‘major character death’ tag recently, so, uh, have this as an apology. It’s possibly the sappiest shit I’ve ever written and I cringed to death but I guess it’s cute so have fun
> 
> Also: rated mature bc it does contain sexual content so I thought I’d give another warning because this fandom seems kinda young? idk, watch out anyway

**_one_ **

So, it happens like this. Curly’s just gotten his head out of his ass and he’s blurted out _I kind of really want to kiss you,_ and somehow, miraculously, Ponyboy doesn’t seem to mind, and even agrees to go on a date. Curly’s in such a good mood he doesn’t even mind when his boss spends 10 minutes yelling because he’s a solid half-hour late to work.

It’s dull work, at the till, and it’s not helped by the fact that his favourite co-worker got fired for stealing last week. But Curly’s breezing through the day, safe in the knowledge that _Ponyboy Curtis_ has agreed to go out to dinner with him. Needless to say, he nearly drops his sandwich when the guy himself wanders behind the gas station on his lunch break, wearing the earring Curly bought him and another goddamn crop-top.

“Ponyboy?”

“Heya Curls.”

“What are ya—”

“Felt like dropping by, I guess,” he grins, leaning against the wall next to him. Curly wants to kiss him again but he’s not sure he’s allowed, not when they’re hovering in the weird liminal space between friends and maybe-dating. And besides, he’s still got bread stuck in his teeth.

He doesn’t stay too long, saying he’s supposed to be helping Darry with groceries or whatever, but it’s still enough to leave Curly so light-headed that he doesn’t notice his boss coming until he smacks his head into the till.

“Lookit, kid. Is that your fella?”

“Not yet,” replies Curly, feeling kind of dizzy.

***

He wonders if it’s possible to love someone you’ve only kissed once, because it sure as shit feels like it when Ponyboy takes his hand like it’s nothing when they stroll into the diner that evening. And Curly’s nervous, he really is, but hey, it’s just his best friend, right?

“I hope you’re not expectin’ me to pay,” grumbles Curly, as he surveys the menu.

“Aw, Curls, that ain’t gentlemanly-like at all.”

Curly pouts. “I paid last time, an’ it weren’t even a date last time. And ‘sides, th’fuck am I meant to do? With what money? Hate to break it to ya, but I get my pay check next week.”

But Ponyboy only grins at him and blows a straw at his face, then insists on paying for the both of them, however much Curly tries to protest.

Tim was too much of an ass to lend Curly his car (it’s hardly fair that Tim’s got the audacity to go out on the same night—isn’t Curly’s date more important than whatever shit he’s doing?) so Curly offers to walk to Ponyboy back home. To, y’know, make a good impression with Darry and Soda and that. Not because he really doesn’t want to let go of Pony’s hand. Nope. Not at all.

He’s figuring on walking him to the door and (if he’s lucky) getting another kiss, or even the promise of another date, but Ponyboy seems to have other plans. Curly hesitates when they get to the porch and says, “Hey, Pony.”

“Yeah?”

Curly’s not really thought this far ahead. He’s an act-first, think-later type of guy. But he’s just been on a date, possibly the best one in his life, so what’s the polite thing to say before trying to get a kiss?

“I had a really good time tonight.”

Ah, yes. That’s the one. Curly mentally pats himself on the back.

Ponyboy grins like he knows exactly what’s going on in his head, and to be honest, he probably does—Curly still hasn’t quite decided whether that’s a pro or a con of dating his best friend. “You know, Curly, what with all your escapades I thought you’d be smoother by now.”

“Shut the fuck up,” says Curly, and kisses him.

It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of when Ponyboy starts kissing back without hesitation, soft and perfect, lips sliding over each other, until Ponyboy apparently decides that sticking his tongue into Curly’s mouth is a good idea and it gets even better. Curly grasps Ponyboy’s face and tilts his head to kiss him deeper, completely forgetting that they’re still standing outside the Curtis house.

He’s breathless by the time they break apart, and— “So, does this mean I get a second date?” he asks.

Ponyboy grins, a little pink. “Sure, Curls, if you keep kissin’ me like that.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” Curly replies, and swiftly ducks in for another peck.

But the door gets thrown open before things can escalate again, revealing a shirtless Sodapop Curtis.

“You two just gonna stand there necking all night?” he demands, folding his arms.

Curly blinks down at him, trying to muster an innocent expression. “Is that an invitation to come in and carry on inside, Curtis?”

Well fuck, so much for trying to win over Ponyboy’s older brothers. Maybe he should have listened to Tim and learned how to keep his mouth shut—Soda’s glaring now, but Ponyboy looks like he’s struggling to keep his face straight.

And Soda’s apparently choosing to ignore him because he tries to usher Ponyboy inside. “C’mon, kid, time to say bye-bye—”

Ponyboy rolls his eyes. “Can it, Soda. I’ll be inside in a minute.” Then, “Hey, Curly, it’s kind of late—”

And is he blushing?

“You wanna just crash here instead of walking home?”

Oh. _Oh._ He’s crashed in Ponyboy’s bed with 100% platonic intentions before, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to survive the night without going insane when Ponyboy is _right there_ and he knows what it feels like to kiss him now (better than he could ever imagine) and besides, ever since Ponyboy’s been home for summer it really hasn’t occurred to him to try and get laid (it’s a miracle that it took Curly as long as it did to realise he liked him, because in hindsight, it couldn’t have been more obvious) and he was planning on giving his right-hand another workout tonight—

Curly’s halfway through wondering how embarrassing it would be to get a wet fucking dream in Ponyboy’s bed (because if he stays then there’s _no way_ Curly’s going to resist kissing him again, and it’s going to get Curly real fuckin’ wound up if Ponyboy kisses like _that)_ when Soda’s voice cuts through his internal panic.

“Hell fucking _no_ , he’s not staying.”

Ponyboy’s jaw drops. “I’m _eighteen—”_

“Come _on_ ,” whines Curly. “Are you still holdin’ a grudge against me from the time you caught us smokin’ pot in 10th grade?”

Soda ignores him. “You’ve been on _one date—_ ”

“Or was it the time last year when I picked up that girl you were tryna get?”

“Shepard,” says Soda haughtily. “I’ve never lost a girl to you; the universe forbids it.”

“Then why you got it in for me?”

Soda scowls. “Don’t play funny with me Shepard, go home.”

Ponyboy opens his mouth to start arguing again (and Curly’s kind of flattered—Pony _never_ argues with Soda), but none other than Mr Muscles Curtis decides to show his face. Curly gulps, remembering how strict Darry used to be with Ponyboy. But to his surprise, his eyes are kind of soft and there’s a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Ponyboy’s letting Shepard stay—”

“I’m _eighteen—”_

“—and I ain’t havin’ a _Shepard_ defiling my kid brother in this house—”

Ponyboy snorts loudly, because he’s been in college for a year for Christ’s sake, of course he’s already been _defiled._

“—should’ve seen them necking on the porch—shameless—”

Darry only grins again, and shrugs. “I did tell Soda not to watch through the curtains but I guess he wasn’t listenin’.”

“You were _what?”_ says Ponyboy, outraged. Curly’s really beginning to think that it would be easier to start walking home, after all, when all three Curtis brothers start talking over each other.

But Darry cuts through the racket and says, “C’mon, little buddy, I’ve already said that I don’t need my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, and Pony ain’t a kid no more.”

Ponyboy shoots Soda a smug grin and starts dragging Curly into the house.

Keep it down, though—” Darry adds, with a pointed look.

“And use protection,” says Soda.

Ponyboy opens and closes his mouth indignantly, and goes flaming red. Curly snickers.

And in his defence, he walks into Ponyboy’s bedroom with completely noble intentions and plans to maybe kiss and cuddle a bit—but Ponyboy gets this _look_ , and he shoves Curly up against the door the second it’s closed and Curly’s knees nearly give in.

“And here I was,” gasps Curly, as Ponyboy kisses down his neck. “Thinkin’ you had to make it to the third date if you wanted to be gentlemanly.”

Ponyboy pulls away and grins. “This is okay, though?”

_“Fuck_ yeah,” he groans, and then he really doesn’t say much else after Pony starts grinding against him, hot and heavy. And after he sticks a hand down Curly’s pants, well.

Maybe it is possible to love someone he’s only gone on one date with.

**_two_ **

It’s probably unhealthy, the amount of space Ponyboy takes up in Curly’s head, and the fact that it hasn’t calmed down even a little bit since they got together about a month ago, especially considering that Curly’s not got much available space in his head in the first place. But he can’t help it, not when he’s low-key had a crush on the kid since they were twelve and thirteen respectively. And he really can’t bring himself to care about it when they’re together.

It’s no secret that Curly is absolutely not a morning person. But getting up is absolutely worth it to hear Ponyboy’s rough sleep-voice and to watch him wander around in Curly’s old T-Shirt when he’s fixing breakfast for them. Curly pads up behind him, and wraps his arms around his waist and tucks his chin on his shoulder. He’s real warm, and comfy.

Ponyboy sighs a little and leans back against him when Curly gives his neck an open-mouthed kiss, and fuck, he really does love this kid, probably has since before they started dating.

When Curly yawns, Ponyboy complains about his morning breath but doesn’t push him away, and flips the eggs (he only breaks one of the yolks), and takes the coffee pot off the stove.

“You were right. Your hair looks awful in the mornings,” Ponyboy comments, but there’s no bite in it. Curly can’t be assed to reply.

“You really don’t do good getting up any time before twelve, do ya?”

“Nope,” says Curly, yawning again and reaching across the table to snatch the coffee creamer from Soda. He’s given up on the middle Curtis as a lost cause; he’ll probably hate Curly until the day he dies. Maybe it’s because of that time with the pool table and Buck’s party, Curly muses, but doesn’t finish the rest of the thought because he gets distracted by Ponyboy laughing at something.

“And I thought mini Shepard was dumb most of the time,” says Soda, snapping his fingers in front of Curly’s face. “Looks like he’s functionin’ backwards in the mornings.”

Curly flips him off. “You’re just mad about the one time I saw you and Randle—”

Soda cuffs him in the back of the head to shut him up.

At this point, Curly reckons it can’t just be the fact that he’s dating Soda’s kid brother, Christ. For once, he’s not even the one starting the physical violence. And see, Curly doesn’t _think_ it’s the four times he’s been to reform and the countless other times he’s been in the slammer overnight—Soda doesn’t seem like the type of brother who’d care—

“Why does your brother hate me so much?” grumbles Curly, as he settles down on the couch and leans against his boyfriend.

Ponyboy shrugs and runs a hand through Curly’s hair. “Maybe it’s ‘cos you’re mouthy.”

“Did he act like this when you were datin’ other people?”

“Other people didn’t hang around my goddamn house like fuckin’ leeches!” yells Soda from the kitchen, and Curly scowls.

Ponyboy only snickers and tugs him closer, and Curly leans up to meet him when they kiss. Ponyboy’s lips are familiar by now, but Curly doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of them. It’s easy and beautiful and it feels so _right_ pressed to his side. He sighs and closes his eyes when Curly starts nipping along his jaw, until—

“No, no, no!” yelps Soda, shoving Ponyboy to the opposite end of the couch and Curly nearly punches him because hell, it’s _definitely_ personal. Soda probably would’ve been proud of Ponyboy getting a guy if it was literally anyone else. Maybe it’s because of the time Curly tried lifting something from the DX when Soda was working? In Curly’s defence, he was fifteen at the time, and he was an idiot at fifteen.

“Hands to _yourselves,_ this is a public area— _”_ Soda’s saying, as he forces himself between them on the couch.

“Soda,” whines Ponyboy. “We weren’t even touching below the belt or nothing.”

Soda just grins and settles his head on Ponyboy’s lap and swings his feet onto Curly’s, a bowl of ice-cream balanced precariously on his chest. Curly glowers. What if he slapped that bowl into his face, now wouldn’t that give him something to be mad about?

Ponyboy steals a bite of his big brother’s dessert. “Y’know,” he says. “I reckon you’re just jealous.”

“Of what?” scoffs Soda. “ _That?”_

He gestures obnoxiously in Curly’s general direction, and Curly tries and fails to shove his legs off his lap.

“No,” says Ponyboy. “Of the fact you ain’t been in a proper relationship since Sandy and your kid brother gets more action than you.”

Soda just mutters something about relationships not being worth it in the least, but Ponyboy glances at Curly and tosses him a grin. Like hell it’s not worth it—it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Curly, so much so that he’s willing to put up with a cranky big brother with a personal vendetta. And if that ain’t love, then Curly’s not sure what else is.

**_three_ **

Curly is ten when he gets sent to reform school for the first time.

But Shepards don’t cry. He knows that, and it’s something that’s been instilled in him for years, but he’s feeling dangerously close when he looks up at the ceiling and it’s so damned _different_ to what he’s used to. And for the first time in his life, in the pitch blackness of a dorm with no windows, he misses the stars.

But Shepards don’t cry, not even when they’re in scratchy grey uniforms, not even when they’re locked up away from home, definitely not when they miss the stars. But he does get dangerously close, a lump in his throat. He goes about his day mechanically because Tim told him to keep his head down and not to make trouble, but of course that bitch who’s lecturing them about being good citizens or whatever starts slagging off everyone’s parents, and then some older kid tries getting into a fight with him, and everyone seems to have it in for him because he’s one of the youngest—

The teachers there tell him he’s stupid, and Curly doesn’t fucking care. It’s nothing new anyway, that numbers don’t make sense and words swim on the page and art is fucking pointless. It’s no different to being in normal school anyway.

He gets out, and Ponyboy lays next to him in the lot while Curly vents and they look at the stars, and Curly thinks he’s relieved to be back out, and that he’s never going back in again. That is, until he goes to school and the teachers there tell him he’s stupid too, so Curly sees no point in trying even a little bit anymore, like he’d resolved to do. And he doesn’t care. Not even when he goes home every day and his ma tells him he’s stupid as well. Tim tells Curly not to mind ma, ‘cos she’s a bitch, but she ain’t wrong, not when Tim’s the one yelling the other half of the time.

But Curly doesn’t care. About nothing.

Until for the first time in years, he suddenly does. It’s almost the end of summer and Ponyboy’s going back to college and Curly doesn’t know what the hell that means.

He’s sitting on Ponyboy’s bed, watching him fold shirts in the remnants of orange sunlight that bleeds into the room and leaves it hazy. It’s a strangely sad colour, though it shouldn’t be—it lengthens the shadows and tints the corners purple and makes Ponyboy’s auburn hair glow like a halo. He looks beautiful as always, ethereal bathed in gold light, angles thrown into dramatic shadow. Something special. Otherworldly. And after all this time, Curly still doesn’t know how the hell he’s managed to last a whole summer with him.

He swallows the lump in his throat and flops down onto Ponyboy’s bed. Fuck it, they had some good memories. At least he can die saying that he’s sucked off Ponyboy Curtis, even if looking at him is gonna be torture now that he knows what those lips feel like when they’re on his.

Because at the end of the day, Curly’s stupid and Ponyboy isn’t, and that’s all there is to it. At least he hopes that Ponyboy had fun, and that maybe he’ll think of his dumb friend from time to time, the one who was always in and out of reform, the one who burned a hole in his hand, the one who bought him a sunflower earring because he didn’t think he’d get away with stealing it.

“Curly?”

Suddenly, that face is directly above him. Curly runs a finger over his boyfriend’s lips, down the straight line of his nose, traces his left eyebrow and his cheekbone. Flicks that dumb earring one more time.

“Yeah?”

“You okay? You’ve been kind of quiet.”

“I just—” Curly swallows, and tucks a lock of rusty-coloured hair behind Pony’s ear. “I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

Ponyboy smiles, and says, “Me too. But you can drive down sometimes, and I’ll call you and send letters as much as you like. It ain’t like I’m gonna be far, Curls.”

Only that ain’t true, ‘cos Oklahoma City University might only be a 100-mile drive but it might as well be a different universe—so Curly hauls him close and kisses him while he still can, trying to pour everything he’s too scared to say into it.

“Hey,” says Ponyboy, breaking away to rest his forehead against Curly’s. He’s got a little crease between his eyebrows and Curly resists the urge to smooth it out, until he remembers that he can, for now—so he reaches out a thumb and squishes down the wrinkle until Ponyboy gives this small smile and brushes their noses together. By now, the orange is almost gone, and the room’s filled with dusky purple. “Hey. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” says Curly, something in his chest aching a little. He’s stupid, stupid, stupid, for letting himself get carried away with something so beautiful. But it’s his own fault and he’s not about to make a big deal out of it. “Yeah,” says Curly, with more conviction, and tries coaxing Ponyboy down for another kiss.

Ponyboy goes with it for a few seconds before pulling away again. “Wait, Curly—”

“What?” asks Curly, petulant. He wants to make the most of every second he’s got left, which means he doesn’t want to waste any of it convincing Ponyboy he’s okay, because hell, he’s not, not really.

“I was thinking,” says Ponyboy slowly, and Curly deflates because this is it, it’s over already and it’s not enough. Although he supposes that nothing but forever could be enough, not now that he’s been allowed to have a taste.

And apparently, Ponyboy sees something on his face, because he pauses again, and frowns. “Curly?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps. He hopes to god he at least makes it out of the house before he flips out and punches something, or worse, cries.

“You ain’t,” accuses Pony, rising to his elbows and surveying Curly. Curly resists the urge to shut his eyes and turn his face away. “You ain’t. What’s botherin’ ya?”

“Nothing. What were you gonna say?”

“I was just wondering—d’you wanna drive me to Campus? I can show you around and stuff, so you know where to go when you visit—and I can take you to the waffle place I was telling you about, the one I think you’ll like—” he pauses. “Curly?”

Curly blinks. Oh. “You ain’t—”

“I ain’t what?” frowns Ponyboy. “Curly, what?”

Curly should really keep his mouth shut but he’s never been good at that, not really, so he rushes out, “Ithoughtyouwerebreakingupwithme,” and regrets it immediately.

Ponyboy’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. “What? Why the hell would I—?”

And now Curly’s definitely blushing and he feels on the verge of tears again but this time of dizzying relief and part shame, which is all kinds of fucking stupid because he hasn’t cried since he was twelve, after getting thrown in jail for the first time. “I dunno, I just—you’re goin’ away an’ I thought—there’ll be other guys in college and maybe you’d—”

“Curly,” says Ponyboy, looking aghast. “I ain’t gonna ditch you for some guy in college—”

“I’m sorry,” says Curly, miserable, feeling like he’s fucking things up more every time he opens his goddamn big mouth. “I’m sorry, it’s just I’m stupid and I thought—”

“Curly, Curly—don’t be sorry, you ass—” he leans down on the bed to hold him tightly, and Curly clutches him back like he might disappear. “You make me real happy, Curly. Okay? You make me real happy and I ain’t leaving you.”

Curly takes a shaky breath and buries his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder and thinks he loves him so much he could die from it, and the thought scares him, so he holds him tighter.

“An’ stop calling yourself dumb,” comes Ponyboy’s muffled voice. “Only I’m allowed to say that. I’ll beat the shit out of the next person who says it, so it better not be you.”

Curly laughs, a little shaky, but at least it’s still there. “You really fixin’ on beating the shit out of Tim?”

“Whatever I gotta do,” says Ponyboy, grimly, and Curly falls in love with him all over again.

***

So Curly drives him to college and Ponyboy shows him the tiny dorm he shares with a guy called Julio, and the all buildings he has his lectures in, and he’s damn right about the waffle place that he thought Curly would like.

And he doesn’t let go of his hand once.

**_four_ **

They must make a pretty picture—Curly knows he looks utterly depraved, knows he can’t stop his mouth hanging open, knows his lips are sore and red from kissing, knows his dark curls are sweaty and hanging wild all around his face. He can only imagine what Ponyboy looks like, lined up behind him with all that taught muscle, slick with sweat, pupils blown so wide there’s only a ring of green around them. The thought makes him moan embarrassingly loud, and Pony’s grip on his hips tightens, blunt nails digging in.

He spreads his legs wider and arches his back, inviting Ponyboy further in, and hangs his head between his shoulders, hands gripping the headboard so tightly his knuckles go white.

“Christ, Curly,” gasps Ponyboy from behind him, rolling his hips just a little and they both groan when he slips in that last inch. “You’re a fucking sight. You’re still alright?”

“Yeah, I—oh, _fuck—_ ” he shudders, all the way up his body, when Ponyboy grinds his hips in a devastatingly slow circular motion. It hits things inside him he’s barely grazed before and fuck if it doesn’t feel so good like he’s never felt before, even if Ponyboy stretching him open burns like a motherfucker.

“Yeah, just… gimme a minute.”

“Anything you want,” Pony whispers, trailing kisses all along his shoulder blades. It’s a lot of pressure, and it blurs the line between pleasure-pain, but Curly finds he likes it a lot, almost too much. He clenches experimentally and it’s a little uncomfortable but Ponyboy groans deep again and well, that’s doing nothing to ease the pulsing heat coiling at the bottom of his stomach. He tries rocking backwards, gasping a little at the slow drag.

“Fuck,” Ponyboy’s voice is tight and strained. “You’re killing me here, Curls.”

“Thas’ the plan,” he mumbles back, but has to bite his lip when Pony taps his ass lightly, playfully. Everything’s just so _sensitive_ like this, and fuck, he loves it, could stay like this forever.

When they’re done, Curly’s ass is sore as hell and he knows he’ll be feeling it tomorrow but he doesn’t even care. He sighs and rolls over, tossing an arm across Ponyboy’s chest and tracing a little pattern on his collarbone.

“You okay?” Ponyboy mumbles, lacing his fingers in Curly’s.

“Are you kidding?” snorts Curly. “More than. I’ve been wanting to do that forever.”

“I still don’t believe it,” says Ponyboy, turning his head to face Curly with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That you’ve been whoring around for years and all this time, nobody’s ever wanted to get a piece of that fine ass.”

Curly grins. “It’s my natural dominance, baby Curtis. They look at me and think now _that_ is the peak of masculinity. They can’t help falling over themselves for my wonder-cock—”

Pony’s chest shakes when he lets out a snort, and Curly can feel his heart jumping under his fingertips. “Hey,” he says, mock-indignantly. “Are you questioning the pure alpha energy I give off?”

“I dunno,” says Ponyboy blithely. “Depends whether you consider moanin’ on your knees with a cock up your ass _natural dominance—”_

Curly kicks him gently and grins, tugging him closer and slotting his face next to his boyfriend’s neck. “It ain’t my fault that nobody’s ever offered before. But I dunno, I like it,” he yawns. Ponyboy’s other hand comes around to stroke a soothing circle on his back.

“Next time,” muses Curly. “Can we do it missionary? I know it ain’t supposed to feel as good, but I wanna see—”

“Whatever you want, Curly,” says Ponyboy, and he sounds so fond that Curly’s heart just about melts. “You’re going soft for sure, though.”

Curly huffs a little laugh. “Maybe, but only for you.”

“You’re such a fucking sap.”

“Yeah well, it makes you blush so pretty; can’t go wrong with that.”

**_five_ **

“You’re goin’ soft,” snickers Angela, interrupting Curly’s focus. He looks up from where he’s trying (and failing) to wrap a little box.

“What?”

“You’re going soft,” Angela repeats, impatient. “Also, can I have the box?”

“I gave you the last one,” grumbles Curly, but what the hell, Ponyboy didn’t seem to mind being given half-wrapped things, so he shrugs and tosses the box to Angela.

“Did you really buy the Curtis kid more _jewellery?”_ scoffs Tim, wandering into the living room and taking a look over Curly’s shoulder.

“He did,” snickers Angela. “Look at big bad Curly, completely whipped. For a _Curtis._ Y’know, Tim, Curly used to buy him things even before they were dating—”

Curly scowls. “D’you wanna shut up, Angela? You’re just jealous, I remember how you were hanging offa Ponyboy all through 9th and 10th grade, and then offa Soda after that—”

“Aw, cute,” says Tim. “Look, he’s getting defensive.”

“Fuck _off,_ Tim, you’re jus’ as bad—both jealous I’m datin’ a Curtis an’ you ain’t—don’t think I ain’t seen the way you look at Darry Curtis, tryna act like you never wanted to get boned so bad—”

Tim opens his mouth, looking murderous, and Curly might be thick but he’s at least smart enough to start planning his escape route. Through the window, maybe. Then maybe he’ll get away with running across the yard before Tim catches up with him—he’s got longer legs now, after all—but he’s saved by Dallas Winston wandering out of Tim’s bedroom, shirtless.

“Who’s boning Daddy Curtis?”

“Tim,” replies Angela, the little shit-stirrer. See, Angela might be a flaky piece of shit but at least it means she ain’t loyal to Tim either, and that’s enough.

But Dally only grins wolfishly and shrugs. “Can’t blame him. Glory hallelujah, that _build—_ hot damn—Tim, you could _never_ —”

Tim, thank god, turns his wrath on Dally instead and Curly takes the chance to sneak away and steal his car keys.

***

If Curly speeds, it’s about an hour and a half drive to Ponyboy’s dorm, and he figures that runnin’ a couple red lights really ain’t the worst thing he’s ever done. He gets there when it’s just gone dark and picks the lock of Ponyboy’s dorm building ‘cos the security guard is sleeping, and knocks on his boyfriend’s door.

Some guy that he assumes to be Pony’s roommate, Julio, answers, and does a double take.

“Who—?”

“Ponyboy in there?” asks Curly, slouching against the wall.

“Uh… yeah…” He turns, and shouts, “Hey, Pony, there’s some guy here to see you!” over his shoulder.

There’s some general shuffling and muttering inside, and Curly grins at Julio, watching the way he shuffles uncomfortably, unsure whether he’s supposed to stay standing at the door.

Ponyboy’s jaw drops when he finally shows his face. “Curly?”

Curly’s beam just about splits his face. Ponyboy’s wearing a pair of sweatpants that were once Curly’s, and a T-shirt that Curly’s been trying to find for months. He looks real cute, standing there with his hair ruffled and his eyes wide.

“Heya, Pony. You gonna let me in or are you just gonna stand there staring? Like, I know I’m a hunk an’ all, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, quit it—Julio, that’s my boyfriend Curly—an’ this is my roommate—”

Julio blanches, but Ponyboy takes Curly’s hand and leads him in, looking kind of dizzy, and Curly loves the way he smiles and his eyes sparkle like his boyfriend randomly visiting is the best surprise he could ever receive.

Curly can’t help it, and leans down and kisses his cheek, savouring the way he blushes.

“What are ya doing here, Curls?”

“What, you’re telling me I need an excuse to come an’ see you? Carry on like that and I’ll think you want me to leave.”

Ponyboy rolls his eyes. “Does Tim know you took his car?”

“No. But come home with me this weekend.”

Ponyboy grins, and flops down to sit on his bed, tugging Curly with him. “You really came all this way just to ask me that?”

“Nah, I also got you this—” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the crumpled tissue paper and Ponyboy rolls his eyes.

“Bought or stolen?”

“Next question.”

Ponyboy snickers and unwraps it, the little leather bracelet falling out. “Aw, Curly, cute,” he coos, all sarcastic. “Matches my earring.”

Curly shoves his head sideways onto the bed, but a grin’s already spreading on his face. “What? Saw it in the drugstore an’ I thought of your pansy bracelet-wearing ass—an’ it is cute, don’t lie.”

“Sure, sure,” says Ponyboy, but he pulls it on anyway. “I’ll do a trade.”

“Huh?”

He reaches down and yanks the leg of his sweatpants up, before loosening another one of those fucking infernal bracelets—apparently, he’s expanded his collection to his ankles as well as his wrists. Curly swears that the damn things are multiplying like my-toe-sis or whatever the fuck they taught in 9th grade biology.

“That’s rank, I’m not putting that on—it touched your feet.”

“Shut up,” says Ponyboy, and shoves it into his palm with the beginnings of a smirk that Curly’s really not sure he likes. He squints at the charm on the bracelet and immediately blanches.

“Christ almighty, _fuck_ no I ain’t wearing that—”

“What?” Ponyboy hits him with the big green eyes, looking so much like the kid he used to be that Curly grits his teeth and resists the urge to tell him exactly where he can shove the damn bracelet. It’s bad enough that Curly’s already wearing _one,_ all the way from back before they started dating, but this is drawing some sort of goddamn line.

It’s got a _star_ charm on it. Shiny and silver. Lord, if Tim or Angela or anyone in his gang ever see it they’ll have a field day. Still, could be worse—as least it’s not a heart, or god forbid, _half_ a heart with a matching pair—he’s pretty sure that Pony wouldn’t stoop that low. And actually, all things considering, it’s not too bad, the star. It just. Doesn't match the aesthetic he's got going. 

“I hate you,” says Curly, resigning himself to the fact that he’s stupid when it comes to Ponyboy Curtis, and that there’s fuck-all he can do about it. When he puts it on, he’s expecting Ponyboy to look smug—but he’s not, not really. He’s only got this little half-smile on that does dangerous things to Curly’s heart.

“C’mere,” he says, and he really can’t help pulling him in for a hug. There’s something else he’s wanted to say forever burning at the back of his throat, but for once, his big mouth doesn’t seem to be working—so Curly bites his tongue and offers to go get him dinner instead.

**_+one_ **

Ponyboy’s a little shit on the best of days, which is just as well because Curly’s pretty sure he’s worse. Still. It would be nice if he’d cut it out and learn to read a map, Curly thinks, as he’s forced to make another fucking U-turn.

“You figured out where we are yet?”

“No,” admits Ponyboy, squinting at the roadmap bunched all over his lap. Curly’s pretty sure his eyes roll straight out of his head because lord, for someone in college, he’s sure lackin’ sense. Tim says that Curly and Pony are a match made in heaven just because they’re both flying fucking stupid and honestly, Curly can’t argue with that. He takes a left into a random carpark and snatches the map from his boyfriend.

Ponyboy lights a cigarette and scowls as Curly pours over the roads. “You have no idea? None at all?”

So, maybe Curly should have thought out his idea of a date better. Although in fairness, driving randomly around Oklahoma City is pretty harmless compared to the other shit that Curly would consider a good time, other shit that he’s not going to get into thank you very much.

So, maybe it was Curly’s idea but it’s still Ponyboy’s fault they’re lost.

“Fuck this,” decides Curly, pulling Pony’s cigarette out of his mouth and taking a drag. “I’m hungry. You wanna get out and find some food?”

Ponyboy shrugs and the two of them step out—Curly can see a movie theatre and a mall on the next street anyway, so maybe it won’t be a complete waste of time. And he figures that getting lost together can count as a joint bonding experience. Yeah, that’s it—look on the bright side.

He says that out loud and Ponyboy grins a little. “Y’know, it’s still kinda strange hangin’ around an optimistic Curly Shepard.”

“Bullshit. I’ve always been a ray of fuckin’ sunshine.”

Ponyboy scoffs, and Curly elbows him playfully. “Okay, fine, but still, I wasn’t the one who got us lost yet I’m still being optimistic? Prime boyfriend material.”

“Sure, sure,” says Ponyboy, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“S’okay,” Curly grins, ruffling his hair so it falls into his eyes haphazardly. “You know I love you anyway.”

Ponyboy freezes. “I—you—”

And it’s then that Curly’s brain catches up and _oh shit._ Oh well. Fuck it. He might be dumb but he’s no pansy, and it’s out now, and he’s kind of scared but there’s a familiar buzzing in his head that makes his mind go blank. “I love you,” he repeats, and it’s so easy that a surprised laugh tumbles from his lips.

And slowly, this bashful grin spreads across Ponyboy’s face.

“I love you too,” he says, and Curly feels so light he could fly away.

**Author's Note:**

> Well shit so that was the height of god-awful sickening fluff, sorry if the end feels rushed I kind of gave up
> 
> Also, I’ve noticed that I don’t normally write established relationship type things? I don’t really know how to? Maybe because I’m literally just here for the pining, but whatever. Hope you enjoyed my attempt, kudos and comments always appreciated, tumblr @jvo-taiski
> 
> There’s another part to this mini-series out as well, which is written as more of a headcanon-type thing (you’ll see what I mean) and I had fun writing it so you can give that a try if you’re still here procrastinating 
> 
> Thanks for reading, Jx


End file.
